


Forged and Tempered

by SheelaNaGig



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Humor, D/s, F/M, Femdom, Oral Sex, Sub!Blackwall, mentions of frottage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2769317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheelaNaGig/pseuds/SheelaNaGig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Inquisitor/Blackwall fic. Expect the requisite amount of brooding. Mentions of sexy times in the first chapter and actual sexy times in the second.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Forged

Nymeria Trevelyan marched across the courtyard with sword in hand. The enchanted blade glittered red in the night, softly illuminating her path amid the scant torches and puzzled sentries.

"Your Worship? Is anything amiss?" One sentry hazarded to ask and met with her irritated grunt. She was too angry for propriety.

Closed merchant stalls came and went in her walk, their tarps rustling in the crisp mountain air. A particularly strong gust howled down from the ramparts as if discouraging her from her destination. But cold wind rasped over anger-hot skin and Nymeria pressed on towards the darkened stables.

The pitched roof loomed, a hulking shadow against the crenelated stonework of the ramparts. With it's cracked boards and broken gaps, the barn was hardly a suitable place for living quarters at such a high elevation. Truly a testament to Blackwall's dogged stubbornness in his self-inflicted penance.

The wide entrance yawned open and revealed a vacant setting furnished mostly in strewn hay bails and wedges of fresh hewn wood. Sounds of horses whickering in their berths impeded on the ambient silence. Nymeria inspected the fire pit at the back of the barn. It flickered in garnet embers and smoldered as though freshly banked. Puddles of water lead to a wash trough still half-full and lukewarm. He must have seen her coming. Then again, the runed sword clenched in her fist made her an easy target to spot against the curtain of night.

Somewhere in the desolate barn, a whetstone scraped metal. 

_The hayloft._

With one final inhale to temper her resolve and fan her rage, Nymeria stomped up the rickety stairs to face him, to confront this man for the second time in one day. She found him sitting beyond a thick pool of darkness beaten back by a solitary lantern. His old sword gleamed in his bare hands. Yet no matter how polished or well cared for, the blade vaunted tales of biting into armor and chipping bone.

Blackwall didn't look up from sharpening his sword. Bulky shoulders flexed, bare beneath the amber lantern light which highlighted the muscular planes of his hard upper body. The whetstone glided over castle-forged iron, sometimes catching on the various nicks and chips on the blade. Despite the edge's imperfections, her owner preened her nonetheless.

Nymeria's irritation nearly faltered by a surge of lust and she hated herself for it. Anger strengthened, but this little Chantry girl affinity took a mattock to her resolve. Just thinking about the way the hair on his chest rambled down his stomach to disappear into his breeches stoked a simmering heat low in her belly. It was enamoring and maddening all at once.

Sodden, dark brown locks swayed against his temple with every movement of the stone. A bead of water trickled from his peaked hairline, collecting in the furrow between piercing blue eyes which cut sharper than any weapon. He sure looked as clean and sharp as the sword in his hand, and wore his traumas with same distinguishing elegance. A far different man sat here than the filthy, fettered prisoner fresh from the road who stood in her judgement just that morning.

"Just what is this?" she growled and gestured towards the runed sword in her hand.

He didn't look up, but the gruff soldier swallowed hard, closing his eyes to her and exhibited his displeasure at their encounter. "My lady, don't ..." he began but shook his head. "It is a fine sword."

"And why did I find such a fine blade propped against the hearth in my quarters?" Nymeria asked, enunciating the words to keep them from catching in her throat.

"Because I am no longer worthy of such artifice," he said and continued to drag the notched whetstone across his own sword. “I was never worthy to begin with. Give it to Cassandra, or perhaps even Cullen. Someone deserving of such masterful craftsmanship."

The blood roiled hot in her veins, pounding between her temples as anger battled against empathy. "I had this smithed and enchanted especially for you, Blackwall. Not for Cass or Cullen."

He gave a rueful snort. "No, you had it made for the man you thought I was. Only right that I return it now that my lie has come to light."

The shield had been there as well. A rampant griffin embossed on silverlite and detailed in blue vitriol. Blue and silver. A proper Warden's shield. Nothing like the battered aegis he'd brought to Haven. Perhaps his unwillingness to bear the shield she understood, hence she left it leaning against her hearth where he'd abandoned it.

"Look, the shield can be reworked," Nymeria conceded. "Or given to Warden Stroud as sign of our alliance. But there is no such Grey Warden insignia nor lore attaching this sword."

When he finally looked up, those ice chip eyes burned cold on her before flashing hot and hungry. Nymeria's chest tightened. She recognized the dangerous desire that sunk into her flesh like his grapple, tugging and attempting to pull her closer to him with a gaze alone. And for several tense moments, a miasma of lust and hurt swirled between them before his obstinance trumped all.

"A man's sword is an extension of himself. You had this crafted on the grounds of a lie and a ghost," he said. "This...there's weight to this blade. Over the years I've grown accustomed to the weight of my sins, I suppose. Like a sturdy suit of armor."

“And doesn’t one take off armor when they are finished fighting?”

"My sins are collected in jars innocent's blood and wasted potential. A difficult load to unburden from myself," he said somberly and stared at the sword in his hands.

"That's not…not the sword you used to…” she started and instantly wished she hadn't asked.

"No," he said and the blade shined in the lantern light. "I bartered my Captain's saber for a crude bit of notched iron when I first fled. This was his. The Warden's. This is the blade which failed to save Warden Blackwall yet spared me. Fate can be such a mocking bitch sometimes."

His calloused fingers traced lovingly down the bevel in the center of the flat blade. "This sword is a promise, a burden, a reminder. And I nearly forgot all about it." He shook his head and sheathed it, as if for privacy. The leather sheathe clattered gently on the floor beside him and he returned his attention to the Inquisitor. "You know, I almost began to believe I was a good man when you presented me with such a beautiful weapon. But one sword isn't enough to redeem such a brutal act."

"In the right hands, a sword might save the world," Nymeria said. She plopped down on a pile of furs and laid the enchanted sword on the haybale beside her. "It can change a man as well. For better or worse. And I see a good man sitting before me despite whatever you left behind in Orlais. Perhaps you're flawed. Mayhaps you made a terrible, greedy mistake, but everyday in this Inquisition you work further towards atonement. You’ve demonstrated an underlying resilience few possess."

"Always the idealist," he said without heat or derision. A ghost of a smile cracked in his thick shadow of a beard. "How do you manage to see such light where others see only darkness."

"Darkness makes even the faintest beacon shine brighter.” She shrugged and propped herself back on her elbows before a lurid flotsam of memory drifted into her mind. His weight upon, the clothed hardness of him grinding against her bare hip as he suckled her nipple. Her body had been so hyperaware that she felt every lace of his trouser’s front fastening. 

Color seethed in her cheeks and she nibbled her lip. Blackwall must have read her face. He cleared his throat at the sudden discomfort tangling between them.

"Allow me to apologize for that night,” he said. 

That night. Both knew specification wasn't required pertaining to which night he meant.

"Apologize?" The word splintered on her lips and Nymeria cursed herself for showing such vulnerability. “You feel sorry we spent the night together?"

"Nym...no, that's not what I meant. Maker's balls, how obvious is it that I lived alone for years?" he muttered. "What I should have said is I apologize for bedding you in such a...rustic bower."

"What a romantic way to say hayloft," she teased him with the first smile she’d shown since Val Royeaux. Had it been that long since she last smiled?

Her smile reflected in the grin beaming beneath his beard. "Aye, well, no one's ever mistaken me for a man of sophisticated sensibilities."

“You didn’t hear any complaints from me either. Although, I kept picking stalks of hay from my hair for the next few days."

"Can think of worse places to be picking them from," he quipped and crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing her. "How did I get a lady such as you in my bed in the first place? No desire demon could hold a candle to that night."

"Quite the feat being you spent months at a time swiving into your own fist," she japed.

His eyebrows shot up at her ribald joke and Nymeria fretted that she overstepped her bounds. Fear dispelled as a hearty laughter rolled warm and familiar down her back like a cozy blanket. Blackwall's laughter guttered out and he combed his lengthy damp hair from his face, pushing it back into the usual style. Silver strands caught the light and glimmered at his temples.

"Witty, strong, beautiful, and as crass as seasoned serving wench. See? You're much better than any figment the Fade could tempt me with," he assured her.

The burly warrior leaned back in his chair. How could one man look as finely sculpted yet appear so roughly hewn at the same time. Nymeria suddenly fixated on how low his breeches clung to his hips. The warmth that drifted over her back sunk to settle between her thighs. She shifted restlessly on the furs.

Mischief glimmered his piercing gaze. "And while I'll admit to a good deal of time spent fucking into my hand, may I remind you that I was a recluse, not a priest. There was an occasional tumble with a willing lass here and there. If you couldn't tell from that night."

A new heat spilled across her chest and up her neck. He'd utterly disarmed her. From the very moment barbs succumbed to jests, their rapport knit back together like a broken bone. Nymeria had slipped farther into comfort than she realized. It would’ve been easy to to reach only a short distance and grasp for a hot coal of anger. But that’s not what she wanted. In her heart of hearts, the Inquisitor refused to stew in her rage, in her heartache. Such caustic emotions burned her as much as it hurt him. What was the use of littering caltrops all around her if it entrapped her as well as defended?

“But you didn’t love any of those other women though, did you?” Nymeria’s heart squeezed into her throat.

“No, Nym. Only you,” The gruff warrior looked her directly in the eyes and answered without a moment’s hesitation. “Why do you believe I kept trying to dissuade you? Our conversation on the rampart wasn’t just to hear myself talk.”

Her gaze darted away towards the flickering lantern for a second before garnering the courage to proceed. 

“Your age,” she said and watched his mouth twist. “Not that you’re too old. But about the Calling. I just thought perhaps you believed you were close to hearing and having to exile yourself to the Deep Roads.”

His eyes widened, an expression she hadn’t seen since first flirting with him outside his cabin. “And you still wanted to be with me?”

She nodded silently, mistrusting her voice to keep level.

“You believed that I was perhaps a few years from my Calling, and still dared to love me knowing all I could give you was a painful, lonely ending?” he said and she felt the tears burn in her eyes. 

Strike by strike, Nymeria chipped away at the barrier he erected between. Every move closer accompanied another of his warnings, and only now did she realize the self-scorn Blackwall must have suffered as he relented to her will. He had tried to deter her, as much for his benefit as her own. To worship her from afar and to return after all this ended into the comfort of solitude.

A wordless exchange clinched between them and he had been the first to stand, no doubt intending to cross the creaking buffer of floor and repeat the last time they’d both shared his bed. But Nymeria hastily leapt to her feet and advanced on him. A watershed of unease pinched between his brows until she angled her mouth over his, pausing only for a precious few seconds before kissing him.

The smoky sweet taste of whisky dandled across her tongue as it slid over his. His beard tickled her chin. She ran her fingers through the thick mass and sought to deepen their kiss. When Blackwall finally broke away, his breath came rough, ragged with heavy hooded eyes to match. To watch such a powerful, taciturn man crumble beneath his desire for her only amplified her own lust. A large hand entwined in the hair falling at her nape, groping insistently but without dominance. He fluttered tiny kisses along the leaping pulse in her neck until he cradled her jaw in his calloused hands.

"You're going to be the death of me, Nym. And I'd gladly go to it," he confessed, locking his eyes on hers and touching their foreheads together.

"I'm not asking you to die for me. You've lived like a dead man for too many years."

Heat poured off his body, a living brazier of flesh and hard muscle enclosed her in warmth against the chilly night. Blackwall’s body heat seeped through her thick tunic and reminded her just how brittle the barrier stood between them.

"I missed this," he spoke into her hair and drew her against his chest. "The smell of you. Your warmth. The way your body fits so perfectly in my arms. Leaving that morning felt like tearing out my own heart with my bare hands. Your man is a bloody fool. Feel free to remind him of that every once in awhile."

"At least he's my fool," she said, smiling until she felt iron hard length of him prodding her stomach. "Andraste's fiery arse," she uttered and unconsciously pressed against the bulge instead of drawing away.

"Never thought I'd make a chantry lass speak such blasphemy,” he rasped a chuckle against her cheek and clutched her waist, putting a sliver of distance between them. "We don't have to...if it's too soon or you—“

She clipped him with a scorching kiss. The floor fell out from beneath her whenever their lips came together. As if gravity realigned itself and she either fell further or became drawn closer. Short nails lightly scored down his bare chest and torso, drawing a hiss of pleasure from him. Blackwall caught her wrists and smirked into their dizzying caress.

“You’re not an easy woman to say ‘no’ to,” he said and wrapped her in his tempting embrace.

She pulled back and grinned, tracing her fingers over the cupid’s bow of his lips. He kissed each digit. “Does any part of you _not_ want this?”

His teeth grazed the back of her knuckles. “Fuck no, my lady.”


	2. Tempered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times and Sub!Blackwall and mentions of frottage. Perhaps I should write about their first time because now I'm intrigued.
> 
> Some mild angst and comfort may have slipped in there at the end. Whoops.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Her fingertips fluttered over the laces at the front of his breeches, relishing in the straining fabric over his rock hard bulge. The last time—the only time—they’d slept together, Blackwall lead the dance. She had found herself on her back and naked before he’d even bothered to take off his gloves. The idea made poignant sense in retrospect. That was Blackwall, wearing his armor up until the last possible moment.

Wordlessly, she tugged at the fastenings of his breeches and met no resistance. If anything, she saw relief in his eyes. His sturdy belt buckle clattered to the wooden floor at his ankles, exposing his brawny body to her in all its stocky glory. Sharpening her concentration and ignoring lust’s voracious pleas to venture further south, Nymeria trained her eyes to only focus on one part of him at a time. A glancing touch trailed over the coarse swatch of salt and pepper chest hair that tapered across his blunted abs. A few slashes of silver scars shimmered among the expanse of dark hair and tanned skin. The closer she wandered her questing contact towards his eager groin, the rougher Blackwall’s breath sounded.

Beneath the fresh aroma of clean skin and mountain air, Nymeria’s blood roiled at the potently male musk emanating from him. Her desire for his body stumbled over her desire to play the aloof observer and her fingers curled around his length, gauging his want by the heat and hardness of him. Neither lacked. Blackwall crumpled into her, his breath fanned down her neck like a summer breeze as she stroked him in a tight grip. His lover watched in perverse fascination as his foreskin swallowed his ruddy glans with each up stroke.

“You did this on purpose,” he grunted against her kiss-swollen lips before plundering her mouth.

Nymeria broke away with a stinging nip. “Hmmm, all’s fair in love and war, darling. Especially when you’re the naked one and I’m still wearing all my clothes.”

“Seem to recall you commenting on how divine my coat felt rubbing against your nipples,” he said and palmed her aching breasts through her embroidered tunic. “As well as you mewling while my gloved fingers kneaded your thighs and I buried my nose in your sopping quim.”

“I did not _mewl_ ,” she choked out in a defensive playfulness as the vivid memory manifested in her mind. Those blue eyes staring up at her over her stomach as his mouth molded over her swollen clit. His whiskers tickled her sensitive thighs and brushed the lower slope of her arse. Despite the brusque way they fell into bed, he’d been surprisingly gentle and undeniably skillful. The entire encounter enacted with a primal tenderness which lacked the sharp edge of savagery. 

This time, things would be different. This time, she would be in control. 

Nymeria let go of his erection to score her nails along his flank, leaving blaring red tracks in her wake. A growl of frustration clawed from the depths of Blackwall’s throat. When he caught her wrists, it was anything but gentle. 

“My lady has a bit of cat in her, I take it?” His voice lowered, so deep that she felt it in her chest.

“Sit down," she said, guiding him backwards towards the chair.

Blackwall shook his head. "Lay on the furs and let me get you out of your clothes. I need you now."

"Uh uh," Nymeria said. A short, sharp push sent him careening backwards to land on the chair with a groaning creak.

Before he could mount a protest, Nymeria dropped to her knees and kneaded the downy insides of his spread thighs. She reveled in the way the muscles tensed and slackened beneath her fingers before placing a little nip on the inside of his knee.

Her lips traveled up his powerful thighs with a pilgrimage of tiny kisses and bites, each drawing a louder, broken groan from the man at her mercy. The masculine scent of him grew stronger, flooding her veins with a liquid warmth which tightened her nipples and pooled between her legs.

"Let me lick you, Nym. Please," he begged and bucked hips when she bit the crisp crease of muscle between his thigh and hip. "Woman, if you don't stop your teasing this instant, I'm going to put you on your back and eat you until you collapse from pleasure."

"Mmmm, but I'm enjoying myself already." His shallow abs tightened as her tongue and teeth played across his stomach. The hot, rigid shaft of him burned against her neck as she maneuvered to avoid it, much to Blackwall’s frustration.

"Alright. You've made your point,” he capitulated. "I'm yours. Body, mind, soul and cock. So allow me to serve you, my lady."

The formal appellation shuddered an odd thrill down her spine. He stared down at her, wanting. A damp lock hair had fallen back across his face, rendering him an utterly disheveled man who slowly tore apart at the seams. All because of her.

She clenched her thighs together to assuage her own heavy longing. Her nerves screamed to take him up on his offer. To let him rip her clothes and make her feel the wonderful things as he had the first time.

But she resolved to draw pleasure from another vein. Nym locked eyes with him and shot him a wolffish grin.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you have trouble accepting my lead in the bower,” she purred.

“You’re not exactly in the most superior of positions from my perspective, love,” he observed and tried to hoist her up to him until she slapped his hand away.

Nymeria leveled a lusty, albeit stern gaze and scolded, “Keep your hands on the chair or I’ll go find those manacles from this morning.”

He looked puzzled. “You’re bloody serious?”

“Deadly.”

Blackwall swallowed hard and looked as if he might argue until he shook his head in a shadow of amusement. The warrior wrapped his fingers around the edges of the seat. Pleased with his obedience, Nymeria rewarded him, tracing her tongue up one of the dark veins on the underside of his prick, loving how his flesh twitched. But the salt and sweat of him only served to fracture her intent of dominance. Blackwall’s groan of pleasure came a bit more ragged as she blew cold air along the wet trail of saliva. 

Bulky muscles bunching in his broad shoulders and the flexed in his biceps. The man struggled to obey her only demand. 

“I’ll make you come,” he bartered, bucking as her lips grazed his ruddy glans. “Maker’s balls, I’ll make you come with my mouth, my fingers, my prick, all of them if you want.”

“Well what if I want this?” she purred and slipped the tip of her tongue beneath the band of his foreskin, stimulating the cache of nerves she knew would further knock him off kilter. Blackwall throbbed larger in her hand.

“Maker, where does a noble girl like you learn to do that?” he asked and she heard his nails scratching the wood grain. 

Frustration relented to relief the moment she pulled him into her mouth, swallowing half his shaft in one smooth movement. His groan echoed in her own throat and she flicked her tongue over his bulbous head. One hand clutched his shaft, stroking it and milking the salty bitterness of his precum onto her probing tongue.

“Can I touch you?” His voice rough from her ministrations. The low timbre rubbed between her thighs like rough cloth. Wait, no, that was her small clothes which were doubtlessly soaked through.

She unlatched from his head with a loud _pop_. “No, but I’m going to strip off my clothes now. Without your help. But I suppose you can watch…if you behave.”

Each scrap of clothing peeled off with sensuous grace, all the while he locked hawkish blue eyes on every bare patch of skin. Cool mountain air brushed across the slopes of her body, rippling goosebumps over her flesh and tingling against her nipples. His hands had moved, now girded around the carved dowels of the backrest. A few times the chair strained as Blackwall’s iron grasp challenged the wood near its breaking point. Nymeria knew the second she closed the distance between them that he’d capture her, scoop her up, and take like she let him the first time. A man could only be pushed so far.

“Lay on the furs. On your back,” she bade with a tilt of her head. “Clasp your hands together beneath your head.”

“Am I still not allowed to touch you?” he asked, his voice hoarse from lust and desperation.

“No,” Nymeria replied curtly and pointed to the furs beneath the window. “You may only touch me when you have my permission. And right now your insubordination is carrying you farther from that permission. Now lay on the bed and do as I say.”

The affronted anger in his eyes smoldered to a somewhat humored surrender. Blackwall obeyed, his body radiating heat and power as he made sure to pass her as close as he could without touching her. He flung himself back to land gently atop the straw mattress. Moonlight pooled through the open window, casting a soft glow over the creases and hard ridges of his naked, supine body. So earthshakingly beautiful that Nymeria searched for her breath.

As the Inquisitor’s mind enraptured by her lover’s body, her legs bore her towards him without conscious intention. She didn’t realize she was straddling his hips until their skin contacted and roused her with a tingling burn. The tenuous control snapped and Nymeria lurched forward, sucking his bottom lip between her teeth then slipping her tongue in his mouth. Blackwall muffled a heady grunt against her lips as he fought to obey her, to keep his fingers locked behind his head instead of mapping her generous curves or palming her breasts. All that power so strenuously contained at her command.

His mouth parted from hers and she whimpered as he trailed kisses down her lithe neck to lick her clavicle. Teeth nipped at the tops of her breasts until he drew her peaked pink nipple in his greedy mouth. 

“Have I ever told you that you have a magnificent bosom, my lady?” he spoke against the pebble hard nub between sucks. “Shame that you hide it beneath your armor.”

“Are you saying you’d like me to start walking around topless or show other people my tits?” Nymeria panted and let him hear the smirk in her question. 

“Such a wanton woman,” he growled and gifted the same attention on her other nipple.

Her slick sex ground along the underside of his fever-hot length, pinning it to his stomach. The scents of their yearning melded to make a cloying perfume which permeated inside her pulse. Every place their bodies touched sizzled, threatening to consume the lovers no matter what transpired between them. All urges and thoughts reduced to such primal simplicity. The only thing Nymeria cared about at the moment were the subtle twitches against her labia, the broken moans volleying between them, and the teeth grazing her puckered nipple. 

“Please,” he implored and thrust against the wet cradle between her thighs. “Let me touch you. Let me put my cock in you. Please, my lady.”

Instead of denying him, Nymeria slid her sodden cleft upwards, reaching between them to position his head at her welcoming entrance. She sunk down, taking him in each blissfully thick inch at a time. Blackwall was the first man she couldn’t accommodate with a quick thrust down. Her most delicate flesh quivered and stretched, setting off a shudder to flow through her limbs.

“Do you need help, my lady?” he asked and the question leant towards sincerity rather than male pride. 

Words were lost to her. Failing to steel her face, Nymeria bit her bottom lip and shook her head. 

He whispered something barely distinguishable above her pounding heart. A muttering along the lines of “Bloody, stubborn Marchers” and wriggled his hips to assist her. Another few inches delved in her body and she whimpered in ecstasy. Her trembling body folded forward and she caught herself on her palms atop his hairy chest. She could take him all in with just one more thrust down.

A whimper shattered on her tongue as she brooked the last few inches inside her. She bore her weight on her elbows, bringing their lips together once more, driven by the rejuvenated intimacy. Her hair cascaded around their faces like a curtain, further shutting out the rest of the world.

“Nym, you feel fantastic,” he groaned. Blackwall’s head lolled back and he ground his dark lower tuft of hair against her nether lips. “So fucking tight and warm and wet. May I touch you now, my lady?”

She nodded her head numbly, the tip of her nose grazing his cheek. 

His greedy hands wandered over her thighs to grasp her rear in two handfuls of supple flesh. Thick fingertips bit into her plentiful cheeks hard enough to breed light bruises. She raised herself on her knees, dragging her constricting heat off his cock until his blunt head kissed her labia once more. And like a true dominant, she allowed the moment to ramble on without sinking back down. 

Delicate tension thrummed in his muscles and Nymeria knew he struggled against the rutting instinct to lift his hips and slam himself home. The furrows in his brow deepened, the tendons in his neck corded like rope. 

“Please,” he whispered.

“Please what?” she said, pulling all her willpower to sow her words with a strand of austere reserve.

He licked his dry lips before answering. “Please let me fuck you, my lady.”

“Such language,” she nipped the tip of his nose. She would’ve further chastised him if her hips hadn’t already committed themselves to sinking down. The second thrust came easier, not as easy as the third and forth before the desire to ride him broke upon her like a crashing wave. 

Blackwall’s hands clutched her arse, lifting and slamming her down, impaling her with a savage need to fill every quarter her body provided. Her derriere clapped against his thighs with a meaty, wet _smack_. Frantic sounds of their coupling knit into the aural tapestry of creaking wood and crunching hay. The little sounds she cried hitched louder as his calloused thumb swept over her aching clit, coaxing her into a soul-shuddering orgasm. The heat which had condensed to a pinpoint flame erupted outwards. Lightening cracked in her veins, leaping from one nerve to the next until her body lit up like the Breach sky. Somewhere in her feeble aftershock, Blackwall had surged up, cupping her breast in one hand and cradling her jaw in the other.

“Maker’s balls, you drive me mad,” he murmured against her lips. “You rip my soul out, rake it over the coals, and then hand it back to me shiny and new. You’re my worst tormentor and my greatest lover.”

The hands abandoned her breast and jaw to slip beneath her thighs as her pace faltered. He pressed his sweaty forehead against hers, bumping their noses together as she continued to ride atop him. Soon, his own thrusts stuttered and she knew he edged closer to tipping.

“May I come, my lady?” he rasped, looking in her eyes with pleading need.

The question caught her off guard, winding another orgasm closer to snapping. And yet Nymeria waited to answer him. His teeth clenched under her gimlet stare and his hips kept driving into her, but still he prolonged his ending. 

“You’ll come on my word,” she spoke in staggered syllables. 

A growl of dissent rumbled in his throat but he held himself back. She deigned to squeeze a dozen more thrusts from him before she gave him permission. “Now. Come for me now, Blackwall! Spill your seed inside me!”

He came with a shuddering roar. Warmth flooded her womb in a comforting tide. Such intimacy unleashed one final crescendo from her body, rippling her muscles around his spurting prick before bearing down in an impossibly tight grip. The frisson reverberated between them in ebbing thrusts and desperate kisses before he collapsed backwards onto the bed, bringing her down with him.

Slowly, the cold world bled back into awareness. A blissful soreness emanated from the apex of her thighs as she felt him wane inside her. The thudding of his strong heart slowed beneath her temple and he anchored her to him with entwined fingers. The sweat chilled on every part of her body that wasn’t touching his and Nymeria shivered. Noticing the patches of goosebumps erupting over her skin, Blackwall automatically reached for thick blanket and drew it up to her shoulders.

There was so much to say. A churning tide of unsaid words calmed in the undeniable current of exhaustion. For the first time in many days, Nymeria allowed herself to succumb her weariness, drifting into dream to the soothing lullaby of Blackwall’s heartbeat.

****

She awoke with a start. Nymeria grasped around in the pre-dawn light and found him still laying beside her, groggy and rousing from her sudden movement.

“You alright, love?” he asked, his sentence punctuated with a throaty yawn. 

Her fingers cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb across his sensuous bottom lip. “You’re still here.” The words held a nuance of pain like a healing wound.

Blackwall sat up, letting the cover slide from his chest to gather her in strong arms. “I am. And I will always be there when you wake up from now on, if you’ll let me. No more cryptic letters or cheap farewells. Although, let me warn you now, I may need to take a night time piss every once in awhile,” he joked and smiled warmly down at her. 

She laughed. Tears scalded in the corners of her eyes. She allowed her shoulders to shake in a soundless sob before the torrent broke. Losing herself in his secure embrace, Nymeria cried until there was nothing left to give, until she’d evicted all the anguish and heartache. Her tears sparked like crystals in his chest hair as dawn broke over the ramparts, invading the loft with soft shafts of light.

Gently, he coaxed her back down to lay against his chest and murmured sweet oaths of assurance. Only when her eyes cleared did she remember the enchanted sword laying on the hay bale beside where they slept. The rune’s power rippled in the blade similar to the silver scars cutting across Blackwall’s body. 

Blackwall followed the line of her sight and made that indecipherable male sound that fell between a grunt and a sigh. “That’s a fine sword. And I’ll be sure to make myself worthy of it so long as it finds home inside my scabbard or hand,” he said, twirling a lock of her hair absently around his finger.

“Sorry, I’ve already given it to Cullen,” she hid her smile against her hand.

Her head rose and fell on his broad chest with each peal of his laughter. “Oh? Is that so? And when was this, my lady?”

“Been up for hours. Someone has to run this bloody Inquisition,” she said and pecked his cheek. “So does that mean you’ll keep it?” 

“Aye,” he said and nuzzled her forehead. “Only a sullen old fool could turn away such a beautiful gift.”

They both allowed the silence to hang between them, not because they ran out of things to say, but because they simply enjoyed being in each other’s company. Despite their leisurely basking, Nymeria felt his manhood twitch and swell against her hip. The Inquisitor nibbled her lip and ran her fingers over his chest. 

“Is this what mornings are going to be like with you?” she asked and held his thick cockstand in her fist. “Besides the irrational crying fits, I hope.”

“You mean this?” Blackwall grinned a bucked his pelvis into her hand. A rough-textured palm traced the naked curve of her hip and he guided her to lay on her back. The rigid shaft slid along her dewy nether lips and he captured her mouth in a thoughtful kiss. “If I’m waking up to you, my lady, then I am certain of it.”


End file.
